Last week, as the American media worked its tail off to insure that the Bush Restoration is extended for four more years by questioning the military record of a then twenty-something John Kerry in Viet Nam*, I ran screaming out of my house, tore my hair out of my head and, as I clutched my knees to my chest and babbled incoherently in the dark corner of the 2 Train, raced uptown to see a double-feature. Not even the pleasantries with the ticket taker (nice guy!) at Lincoln Plaza could take my mind off of the growing fear that everything was falling apart. As the ritual usually goes, though-- lights fade, credits roll, and I was transported out of my anxious worldweariness and into Valeria Bruni Tedeschi's present day Paris in It's Easier For A Camel.

(Ok, maybe this is just an excuse to put Chiara Mastroianni's picture on my blog... but read on, it all ties together in the end...)

I was too young to have been here in NYC. I was actually 5 years old. My parents were getting a divorce at the time, and I was blissfully unaware of pretty much everything except the idea of getting my ass into kindergarten, which was exciting. The summer of 1976, while America listened to FRAMPTON COMES ALIVE! (and my mother, recently single, was listening to Neil Diamond in her VW Bug), there was an explosion on Bowrey and 3rd that was heard all the way in London. That explosion was the release of RAMONES, one of the most important albums in the history of rock and roll.

Empathy and the Politics of the Image

On June 18, 2004, CNN reported the death of American hostage Paul Johnson Jr., an American contractor working in Saudi Arabia. He was kidnapped by militant Saudis who sought the release of al Qaeda prisoners and the departure of all 'westerners' from the Saudi Peninsula. When their demands were not met, they murdered Johnson by beheading him. In front of a video camera. The video of which made its way to the internet.

Today is a sad day, and an exciting one. It is a day of possibility, of hope, but also of reflection, of regret, and a chance to ponder what might have been.

On the eve of the start of the EPL, Owen has left Anfield for the Bernabeau.

Now, if you, unlike 99.99% of all Americans, have some idea of what that last sentence means, you might understand my conflicted mood. If not, let me parse it for you:

"On the eve of the start of the EPL:" Tomorrow, The English Premiere League kicks off!

"Owen:" Michael Owen, English striker and one of the best football players in England

"has left Anfield:" has decided to leave Liverpool, my favorite football team

"for the Bernabeau:" in order to play for Real Madrid in Spain, the so-called "best club in the world" and home to the 'galacticos,' the most impressive line-up of players assmebled on any football pitch anywhere.

You see, it's a dark day in Liverpool. But it feels just as dark in Brooklyn, because I am an American fan of football.

Yesterday, I went to see Los Angeles Plays Itself, Thom Andersen's fascinating deconstruction of the cinematic representation of Los Angeles. I was enthralled for the entire three hours, and I thoroughly enjoyed the highly personal approach to the history of film that Andersen took. It was clear to me that his somewhat curmudgeonly perspective on the city's history in (and as the subject of) films was derived from his love of the place, love of film, and his highly cultivated understanding of the relationship between art and the experience of real-life. However, there was something deeply flawed in his analysis, and after a night filled with visions of Los Angeles spinning in my head, I think I found what I was looking for.

(WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD!)

The votes had been counted, and the people (ok, just a few of the people, but people none the less) had weighed in. Following my popular mandate, I took the F Train Friday afternoon to the 2nd Ave stop and the lovely Landmark Sunshine Theater* to take in the 4:45 screening of Metallica: Some Kind Of Monster. I thought the film had all of the ingredients of great drama and was an incredibly exciting and unique insight into collaboration, the therapeutic process, and the inspiration of the creative mind. Now, don't get me wrong, I know Metallica are talented musicians and have been one of the most sucessful bands of the last 15 years, but there was always a stigma in my mind that, as balls-rich heavy metal icons, the band were something of a parody.